


Double Solitaire

by unnaturalhistory



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers for Time To Kill, but will probably be entirely jossed next episode, the rest of the cast shows up too, venturing into soft kepcobi territory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8480740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnaturalhistory/pseuds/unnaturalhistory
Summary: Colonel Kepler speaks to his subordinate after the events of Time To Kill.





	

70 HOURS 

Kepler stands, posture somehow managing to project both authority and boredom, as Minkowski adjusts the devices on the comms panel. He perfected the stance years ago, and it has served him well – even in gravity-free environments. “All set to hail, Hera?”

“Ready on your order, Colonel,” Hera replies, barely glitching at all. It’s an improvement, he supposes. “They should be in range a-any second now.”

Kepler checks his watch. “Lieutenant, prepare to open hailing frequency in T-minus three, two, one—”

The radio crackles obediently to life. Kepler smiles as Minkowski leans into the microphone. “Hephaestus actual to module, module, do you copy?”

There is a brief pause, and then Douglas Eiffel’s voice become audible. “Loud and clear, Lieutenant.” His voice sounds tired, almost without inflection, but there is an undercurrent of emotion to it that makes the smile drop from Kepler’s face. From the way Minkowski’s shoulders tense, she’s noticed it too.

“What happened?” Kepler asks.

“It’s a long story, sir,” Eiffel replies.

“Is everyone all right, Eiffel?” Minkowski breaks in.

There is a pause, just long enough to set an itch between Kepler’s shoulder blades, but then Eiffel responds. “All present and accounted for, Lieutenant.” Another pause, shorter this time. “But you might want to have Hilbert take a look at Jacobi when we get back. Captain Lovelace can explain why.”

There’s something truly chilling in Eiffel’s voice when he mentions Lovelace, which Kepler files away under ‘interesting’. Before Minkowski can cut in again, Kepler speaks. “I’ll have the good doctor on standby. See you soon, module.”

“Over and out, Colonel.” There is another few seconds of static, and then the radio cuts out entirely.

Minkowski spins around to face him, urgent. “Colonel—”

He ignores her. “Hera. Were you able to get any readings?”

A pause. “The sensors on the module are pretty rudimentary, Colonel, but from what I could tell, everything seemed nominal. Life signs included.”

Kepler feels muscles he hadn’t even realized were tensed relax slightly. “Well then, we’ll just have to wait and see,” he says. “Keep an eye on them, Hera. I’ll be interested to hear what kind of story they’ve got for us.”

96 HOURS 

Kepler stands with his arms behind his back, a military man at ease despite the pervasive uneasiness in the air.           

Minkowski stands just behind him, back straight and eyes locked on the airlock door. Hilbert is beside her, medical supplies at the ready, uncomfortable in the group. Kepler ignores them. “Hera?”

“Just a moment, Colonel.” There is a dull, metallic clank, the sound of the Hephaestus’ outdated machinery groaning, then silence. “Docking complete. Stand by for boarding.”

The airlock whirrs to life, and the doors open to welcome back the departed crew. Maxwell is the first one off the ship, tension obvious in the creases around her eyes and the set of her jaw. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t meet Kepler’s eyes, as she glides past the assembled crowd towards the Urania. Kepler makes no move to stop her, keeping his eyes on the doors.           

Next to disembark is Eiffel. His usual jocular mask has been dropped, his face showing only exhaustion. His eyes are flat, like a door has been slammed shut behind them, and he nods to Kepler as he steps into the hall.          

Kepler dismisses him as soon as Jacobi steps off the ship. His subordinate looks… smaller, somehow. Shoulders hunched inwards for protection, chin tucked in ever so slightly as though bracing for impact. And his eyes – Kepler has seen those eyes before. Haunted eyes. For a moment, something boils up inside him, but he pushes it down – _later_. “Mr. Jacobi?” he says.           

Wordless, Jacobi continues past them, headed in the same direction as Maxwell. Hilbert moves to follow him, but Minkowski catches his arm, shaking her head, and he settles, moodily.           

Finally comes Lovelace, the only one so far to look like her usual self – unreadable. She, too, gives Kepler a nod, her posture echoing his. “When would you like to debrief us, sir?”

Kepler gives her a long look, weighing her. Lovelace stands steady, a soldier on duty. Her eyes meet his without flinching. “You can give me a rundown of the basic facts now, and we’ll do a full debrief at 0800 hours. It looks like you all need some rest.”           

Lovelace nods again, sharply. “Sir.”

At Kepler’s signal, the crowd disperses to their quarters. Lovelace stands at attention until he gestures to her to follow, and together they make their silent way back to the Urania.

97 HOURS 

Kepler stands outside the door to Jacobi’s quarters, hands at his sides. The door is locked. “Jacobi.”

No answer.

“Jacobi.”

No answer.

" _Daniel_.”

There is a pause, then the sound of the lock disengaging. Jacobi opens the door half-dressed, eyes bloodshot. He has a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka in one hand. “What?”

Kepler doesn’t reply immediately. Jacobi doesn’t look much better now than he did when he stepped off the shuttle, body language closed off and hostile. And, of course, there’s the matter of the alcohol. “Do you want to have this conversation in the hallway, or are you going to let me in?”

Jacobi looks at him, jaw set in that stubborn way he has, and for a surprising moment Kepler thinks this might end with a door slammed in his face. But then, of course, Jacobi steps aside. He closes the door behind them, locks it, and stares sullenly at Kepler.

Kepler waits.

Jacobi breaks in under five seconds - a testament to how shaken the man must be. Usually he holds out a bit longer. “Just ask, already, damn it! Lovelace’s told you everything, right?”

“What makes you think that?” Kepler asks.

“Because you haven’t asked yet.” Jacobi spits back.

Kepler smiles, ever so slightly. “Then I get the feeling you already know what I’m going to ask.”

Jacobi slams the bottle in his hand onto his desk. The dramatic effect is somewhat lessened when the bottle begins to float gently away. “How the  _hell_ can you be so calm about this? I might be a goddamn fake, and there you are acting like it doesn’t matter!”

“Are you a fake?” Kepler asks.

Jacobi seems thrown for a moment, but then the anger returns, along with a hint of desperation. “Of course not, I’m _me_! Lovelace must’ve told you, I answered all of Alana’s questions, I’m-- I’m  _me_!”

Kepler watches him carefully. His tone does not change. “So did the other one.”

The anger in his eyes is fading now, as the desperation takes over. “What do you _want_ from me?” Jacobi demands.

“Are you a fake?” Kepler asks again.

At the question, something inside Jacobi visibly cracks. “I-- I don’t _think_ so,” he says. “But he-- it--” he swallows, hard, and there are tears starting to gather at the corners of his eyes. “It sounded so  _real_ ,” he says finally, barely above a whisper.

“You knew that this would be one of our more… interesting missions, Mr. Jacobi,” Kepler says. “I need to know that I can rely on my team. I need to know that I can rely on _you_. So what I need right now is for you answer one simple question for me: are you a fake?”

Jacobi looks down at the floor for a long minute, until his trembling breaths steady. Finally, almost inaudibly, he responds. “No, sir.”

Kepler waits a moment, then moves over to the man, and puts a hand on each shoulder. “I believe you, Daniel.”

Jacobi looks up, sharply, meeting Kepler’s eyes. He searches them for a long moment, and seems to find what he is looking for; the cracked dam breaks. Jacobi shudders, and this time when he curls in on himself it is to sob.

There is something about the intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability, that takes Kepler by surprise. It shouldn’t, really; this was what he had wanted, to break down any barriers between him and the truth of the matter. And yet, acting on an impulse that he suspects neither of them fully understands, Kepler reaches up to cradle Jacobi’s head with one hand, and with the other at the small of his back pulls him in for a surprisingly gentle hug.

Jacobi freezes up for a moment, and then clings to Kepler like a drowning man to a passing fin, too desperate to care whether it belongs to a dolphin or a shark.

They remain like that for some time, Jacobi’s tears soaking uncomfortably through Kepler’s uniform to wet his chest. His body is warm. He smells of machine oil and vodka, with the faintest hint of the hot metallic scent of stardust. Eventually, Jacobi’s shoulders still, his breathing evens out, and Kepler drops his arms to his sides. Jacobi’s hands drop somewhat more reluctantly from Kepler’s uniform, but when they step apart he looks more or less pulled together.

“For the sake of the others, I’m still going to have Hilbert do some tests,” Kepler says, as though the conversation never paused. Jacobi just nods. “Maxwell will come to her senses soon enough, and as for the others - well, we’ll see. That doubt could be another weapon in our arsenal, if we need it.”

“Understood.” Jacobi’s voice still has a slight quiver to it, but it is strengthening. Kepler trusts it will be gone by morning.

“Debrief at 0800 hours, Mr. Jacobi. I expect to see you there,” Kepler says.

Jacobi nods. “Sir.”

“Make sure you get some rest,” Kepler says, allowing himself a small smile.

Jacobi smiles weakly in return. “Yes, sir.”

97.5 HOURS 

Kepler stands in his makeshift quarters, staring at himself in the mirror. He wonders briefly if the Kepler in the mirror would think he was just as real, if he were standing here now. Shaking those thoughts, he crosses the room and presses a button on his personal comms. “Hera.”

“Yes, Colonel Kepler?” Hera’s electronic voice sounds even more artificial through the small unit.

“Let Hilbert know he’s going to be running some _very_ extensive tests on Mr. Jacobi, starting tomorrow,” he says, “and that he’s to send a copy of _everything_ directly to me. I want reports and raw data both, make sure he understands that.”

“I’ll let him know, Colonel,” Hera replies. “Anything else?”

“That’s all for now, Hera.” Kepler switches the comms unit off. He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, and stares out into the blackness of space. At the edge of his window, a soft blue glow is the only indication of the madness they’re currently orbiting.

Kepler sighs. Not for the first time, he thinks that his whiskey could not have been lost at a less convenient time.


End file.
